


so far, so good

by orphan_account



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: (unfortunately for him), Gen, Groundhog Day, Suicide Attempts, don't worry he doesn't stay dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 09:40 a.m. on the 4th of August, on the floor of the observation deck that overlooks the execution grounds under the ruins in the sea, Vector opens his eyes.He's still alive.Pity.(for zexal month 2017 prompt: alternate death)





	so far, so good

**Author's Note:**

> This is a giant joke. No malice is intended, but please don't read if you find this subject offensive or uncomfortable.
> 
> Orbital retained Barian powers and can still travel interdimensionally, hence he flies a lot faster a plane.

 

 

 

 

At the beginning of summer when Kaito's back was turned, Vector jumped Orbital and stuffed a USB drive into one of the free ports under a panel at the side. Waited for Orbital to stop struggling, then yanked the drive out and shut the panel.

He'd see the results in one month's time.

Let no one say that Vector ever made his own life easy.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Standing on the observation deck overlooking the execution grounds in the ruins of his lifetimes-ago home, 4th of August, 10:03 a.m., 98% battery on the D-Pad.

Vector unlocks the device, opens the voice memo app and clears his throat. "Hey. If anyone finds this—"

What the hell did he even intend to say?

 _It's fine, it was voluntary._  
Or, _Sorry for the mess.  
_ Or, _Tell Kamishiro Ryouga to kindly go fuck himself._

(In his head a voice very like Yuuma's says, This isn't that guy's fault, is it?)

The walls are silent. Vector thinks about everything again: Barian World, five hundred years under the red sky. Merag. Durbe. Nasch. 4 a.m. nights looking out the window at stars he can't see,  trying to piece together the fragments of lost time. The bullshit called Japanese junior high school lessons he doesn't understand and doesn't care about, and—

— and Tsukumo Yuuma, and the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night with the sense that _the walls are too quiet_ and not quite knowing why.

His eyes actually half-fill with tears, and then the regret curdles into contempt in his stomach and he blinks them away. Closes out of the voice app, slides the D-Pad back into into the pouch and pulls out the switchblade in the pocket next to it. Flicks open the knife and catches the reflection of his own ashen face in the blade out of the corner of his eye. Raises the point to the hollow at his throat, angles the edge so it bites at his skin.

Presses in and pulls sideways before he can hesitate.

 

 

 

 

 

(Purgatory hurt a lot less before.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vector opens his eyes.

He's still alive.

Still here on the floor of the observation deck that overlooks the execution grounds.

_Okay._

He checks his D-Pad.

4th of August, 09:40 a.m..

92% battery, flickering down to 91% as he looks at it.

Maybe he fell badly on the way in here and hit his head, and watering his own execution grounds with his blood for the second time was just a very, very bad concussion-induced dream.

(He's had worse dreams.)

(He also doesn't want to rip out his throat again if he can help it.)

But in the voice memo app his recording is still there, timestamped 10:31 a.m. He presses play, listens to the quiet sound of his own voice until the sniffling fades to nothing. Then he erases the whole thing.

He descends the stairs of the observation decks to the edge of the chasm and peers down. He knows what's down there and how far it is; he just can't see it.

_It'll do._

He sets the D-Pad down on the floor walks back to the edge. Turns around so he faces away from the chasm, tries not to think about falling.

(He thinks about falling, his own weight betraying him, blind panic and _ohshitohshitohshit_ it's like dying at the Barian God's hands all over again—)

_— dying is precisely the point, isn't it?_

Sudden calm.

He opens his eyes. Steps backwards, and watches the sky fall away before him.

 

 

 

(At least dying at the Barian God's hands was just falling, and there was no stone floor to land on at the end of it.)

 

 

 

Vector opens his eyes.

He pulls himself painfully into a sitting position and immediately regrets it. Prods at the bruises: every part of him hurts like hell but nothing seems broken and he isn't dead.

(Pity.)

The ceiling is very, very far away.

He breathes in.

When he has collected himself he finds the spiral stairs, climbs the one thousand one hundred and four steps back up to ground level. He picks up the D-Pad.

4th of August, 10:29 a.m. Still alive. Still here.

85%.

_Okay._

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

41%.

Bleeding out does not work.  
Breaking bones does not work.  
Asphyxia does not work.  
Tripping one of the old traps and letting it smash him into the wall does not work.  
Going outside to drown himself in the ocean surrounding the island does not work.  
He cannot stay conscious long enough to finish removing vital organs.

(He concludes that the entire category labeled 'physical trauma' will not work, and that attempting is more painful and messy than it is worth.)

He climbs back out of the underground plaza, sits on the stone steps of the entrance to the ruins; watches the sun's interminable passage through the sky, chased by moonrise and pinpricks of starlight.

_20:08:23._

_22:47:45._

_23:59:59._

...

He opens his eyes.

Still alive. Still on the floor of the observation deck overlooking the plaza.

09:38 am on the 4th of August.

_Okay._

 

 

 

 

 

Lying on the floor of the central platform, tracing the patterns on the ceiling in his head. Sunlight filters through vents near the domed ceiling, impossibly high up, and he has no idea what time of day it is. Only the digital clock on his D-Pad and the battery's slow drain is any indicator of time passing in this place.

He checks his D-Pad: 15:34 p.m. on the 4th of August.

33%.

Seven 'days' have passed, which must mean— three days of battery life left.

He turns over the span of time in his mind. Doesn't think about it running out. Doesn't think about 0% when the device dies, and he's cut off from contact with the outside world and stuck alive forever in his own ancient ruin — his one-time home and two-time grave— with no one to hear him scream.

No one to drag him to hell one last time.

His blood runs cold and he unlocks the tablet and dials, battery waste be damned.

"Hey, Yuuma?"

"Mm? What is it, Vector?"

 _Nothing. Just wanted to hear your voice._ "What day is it?"

"Friday, right? What's up?"

"I mean, what day of the month?"

"... The 4th."

"What month?"

"August. Vector, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Bye."

He hits end call. Tips over the switchblade balanced in his palm so it clatters to the floor.

_This is fucking bullshit._

He picks up the knife again. Stabs the point into the crook of his elbow and pulls straight towards his wrist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4th of August, 10:02 a.m, 8% battery on the D-Pad, Vector unlocks the device and dials.

Kaito picks up on the second ring. "Mind saying why, exactly, you need Orbital to go out to this location in the middle of the ocean half the world away?"  
  
Vector exhales deeply. "I'll explain later."  
  
A pause. Maybe five seconds; maybe an eternity. It's all the same in this place anyway.

"—Okay," Kaito says. "Stay where you are."

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

 

 

 

 

On the long way back to Heartland City, clinging to the struts for dear life as Orbital whirs above him still complaining about having to fly all the way out to nowhere _again_ , Vector considers his options.

He doesn't want to tell the truth. But there are also very few reasonable excuses, all of which are bust anyway if Kaito should check Orbital's odometer and notices the mileage is a few thousand km higher than expected.

A voice that sounds very like Yuuma says, _just tell the truth_.

(Yeah, right.)

_A month ago I hacked your robot to sneak out of your house in the middle of the night and airlift me to an island in the South Pacific Ocean so I could kill myself without anyone interfering._

(Sure, why not.)

(He can think of nine reasons why not, and eight of them start with Nasch and one with Yuuma.)

 

 

 

 

By the time Orbital finally deposits him in a heap on Kamishiro Ryouga's welcome mat he has turned the words over enough in his head he is sure he can say them with a straight face. An obot glides by, pulls to a halt and blinks at them. "Trash? Trash? Trash?"

Orbital, folding up its mechanical wings, blinks back.

"Take me if you want, just leave Orbital," Vector murmurs.

The o-bot blinks again, circles them once, and glides away.

4% battery on the D-Pad. Vector stands, dusts himself off, and turns the key in the lock.

Kaito and Ryouga are sitting at the living room table and they look up at the sound of the front door opening. Kaito regards him with a sort of detached curiosity; Ryouga's forehead is creased, his eyes intent, and Vector can't read his expression precisely but he knows he doesn't like it.

Kaito waves Vector to a chair, which Vector takes gingerly, and steeples his fingers. "So. Explain."

"I went there to kill myself," Vector says promptly.

Kaito nods. Doesn't ask how or why. "And you called me, because?"

A flash of irritation. "I changed my mind?"

Kaito raises an eyebrow.

To his other side, Ryouga says, "If you'd only said where you're going I'd have told you not to bother."

Vector shifts in his chair, familiar irritation already simmering; he just admitted he _wants to kill himself_ and doesn't the bastard have the decency to show a smidgen of sympathy—

— this is Nasch, of course he doesn't. "Oh? And why not?"

Ryouga actually finds this _funny_ , the bastard. "I already tried. I also had to get airlifted out by this guy."

"You—"

"Poseidon's on the ocean floor now, remember? Nowhere else for me to go. But Rio said maybe the place has seen so much death it doesn't want to see any more."

That actually makes sense.

"How do you know I'm not gonna just try again right here?"

"I don't," Ryouga replies. He's holding the note Vector left. "But I know Yuuma's going to cry if he sees this. So he won't ever see it. If you still want to do it, feel free."

Kaito elbows him.

"Give that over," Vector says.

Ryouga obliges, and Vector crumples it and launches it at the bin across the room. "Happy?"

"Yes, actually."

"Are we done here?" Kaito says, standing."If so, I'm leaving."

Vector grits out his thanks as Kaito crosses to the door, Orbital trailing him, and as the door closes he turns back to Ryouga.  "Not one word to anyone about this."

"Or else what?" At the look on Vector's face, Ryouga adds, "Relax. I'd never make Yuuma worry like that."

The words drop like a stone into Vector's stomach and he suddenly feels very, very tired. "Good. I'm going to bed."

"It's Friday afternoon."

"It's been Friday for a week now.” No spite in it, just exhaustion.

Ryouga calls up the stairs after him, "Remember to check the date when you wake up, will you?"

 _Bastard_ , Vector thinks, and ignores it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
